


Pretty as a picture

by redsnake05



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard has a secret, hiding in the sketchbook at the bottom of his bag. When Bob finds out, it could change everything. When they decide to let Frank in on it - only fair, since he's at the heart of it - it does change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty as a picture

Gerard had never meant anyone to find the sketchbook. That was why he kept it tucked at the very bottom of his bag, taken out only occasionally, on hotel nights, or, rarely, on the bus, when Gerard couldn't take it anymore. Then the images flew off his pen in a flurry of lines. They danced over the pages, sketch after sketch, and they were all of Frank. The frenetic blur of his body as it spun across the page in a series of moves, then the blissed out fluidity of him dozing on the couch, then the unfocused, creased look he wore in the morning like a ratty bathrobe against wakefulness; they were all there. Gerard saved them up, letting them build up behind his eyes and in the tips of his fingers.

Frank turned up in other sketches, of course; all the band did. But Frank in the special sketchbook was a little different - smoother, maybe, eyes edged even darker with eyeliner than normal, perhaps, or his lips a little shiny looking with the way the light hit them. In one, a bare leg protruded in a somnolent sprawl from a pile of blankets. It was smooth and hairless, and a high heel lay on its side next to him. In another, his tiara caught the lights as he danced, and the curve of his skirt flared out round him like a corona. Gerard liked to keep this Frank a secret, hidden deep in his bag, where no one would ever look for him.

But Gerard had underestimated the desperate straits of touring.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Bob didn't meant to find the sketchbook, if it came to that. He just wanted to find the pair of socks he'd lent Gerard that Gerard swore he'd washed and returned. But curiosity got the best of him, and he flicked through it. At least, that's what he had intended to do, but he stopped on the first page and his finger traced over the soft curve of Frank's lips, which Gerard had made red and slick, and the shell of his ear, down the fluid curve of the earring Gerard had drawn hanging from his lobe towards his shoulder. Then Bob had turned the page and there was Frank stretched out on his bunk. Bob recognised his pillow under his head, but not the way Frank's hand slid under the waistband of his panties, legs spread wide and bare and smooth, his tattoos dark and rough against the implied delicacy of the camisole.

Bob's breath caught somewhere in his chest as his cock hardened in his jeans, trapped against cotton boxers and cotton jeans, and he was so aware of the friction. Pressing the heel of his hand against his dick, rough and scratchy through the denim, he slammed the book shut and shoved it back into the very bottom of the bag. He never did find the socks.

Hobbling out of Gerard's room, Bob stumbled into his own, thankful that Ray was out somewhere, and straight into the bathroom. He popped the button on his jeans and shoved them halfway down his thighs, along with his boxers, his other hand wrapping tight around his cock. His head dropped back against the door at the first long, tight pull and his moan echoed loudly off the tiled walls. He didn't care, mind full of smooth skin and parted wet lips. He imagined Gerard posing Frank how he wanted him, big hands smoothing over his body and tilting him this way and that. He imagined Frank, eyes shining with mischief, teasing Gerard with flashes of satin under the tight fit of his jeans, winding him up for fun. He imagined it spilling over, the tension between them. He could nearly taste how they would look together, Frank's leg wrapped high around Gerard's waist with a sandal swinging loose from his foot as his toes curled and he gasped as Gerard pounded into him.

Bob was so close, eyes closed tight and hand fisting hard round his cock. He imagined Gerard turning to him, drawing him in to the scene. In his fantasy, Gerard turned Frank round, sliding back into his body and leaving Bob to drop to his knees in front of him and swallow down his cock. He imagined looking up from the stretch of his lips around Frank's dick to see pale satin darkening with sweat across his chest and down his belly, imagined the cool press of metal bangles into his cheek as Frank twisted a hand in his hair.

That image sent him over the edge, body clenching hard, come spilling between his fingers and over his belly and thighs. He doubled nearly over before crumpling to the floor, breathless and aching and still so desperate and hungry, even though his body was telling him that he should be sated. He wasn't. Not by a long shot.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Frank had no idea what the fuck was going on. Gerard was looking at him all the fucking time, which was usually fine, but the looking was accompanied by furtive bites to his lips, and the telltale grope for a pencil before he got himself back under control and marshalled up a scathing remark or an appropriately abstracted look, designed to show that he was off in some distracted artistic trance. Fuck that shit. Frank launched himself onto Gerard, knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor. Frank dodged his flailing arms and rucked up his t-shirt, getting an impressive raspberry to his belly in before Gerard could wriggle away. Triumphantly sitting astride him, Frank looked up to see Bob watching from the edge of the little kitchen nook.

Bob was fucking looking at him too, and Bob was not an artist and did not routinely stare at people like they were begging him to capture them in swift lines of graphite. And Bob had been letting Frank climb all over him more than usual, piggy-backs and cuddles and even a memorable fireman's carry. Frank was sure that firemen didn't usually have their hand so close to the ass of the person they were carrying, but he had let that go, along with a few squawks and some undignified wriggling. But, at the same time, he'd been standing back and not getting so close, sneaking long looks when he got the chance.

Frank tilted his head to one side. "Fancy a raspberry on your tummy, Bob?" he asked, aiming for menacing. He expected Bob to laugh, maybe for Gerard to laugh too, but Bob just shook his head wordlessly. Frank had no idea what was going on with either of them. They were the most confusing, perplexing motherfuckers in the universe. He looked down at Gerard, who had that dreamy, twitching-for-a-pencil look again, and moved swiftly. The raspberry was wet and loud against his neck this time, and Frank pulled back to the sound of a chair scraping. He bounded to his feet in time to catch Bob stalking off the bus.

He stood in the middle of the lounge, and felt like there was something big that he was missing, but he just wasn't sure what it was.

Behind him, Gerard had closed his eyes. Frank went outside for a cigarette.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

It wasn't a hotel night, but Gerard couldn't wait. He pulled his curtains shut against the noise of the others and pulled the sketchpad from the very bottom of the bag. He turned to a clean page and started drawing, lines swift on the page. Frank was two laughing eyes through a curtain of hair falling forward from a clip, then he was in motion, uncurling from his seat in a clean stretch, hands already reaching out to Gerard, off the page. Then he was above, straddling the viewer, straddling Gerard, and the hands resting on his thighs were tipped in shiny red nails. He looked down at the viewer, at Gerard, heavy eyed with intent, lips slick and shiny and parted to show his teeth. He was compact and fierce, and Gerard's pen shaded in every scrap of detail he remembered.

The rest of the world faded, until Gerard felt like he was alone in his little moving cocoon, like the world outside the bus didn't matter. There was only him and the paper and the pen, ink bleeding into the weave in the patterns Gerard set, but Gerard wasn't in full control, here.

"Gerard, have you seen my-" The curtain rings rattled and the sketchbook slammed shut and Gerard looked at Bob and hoped he hadn't seen anything. Bob's eyes were fixed on the cover of the sketchpad, and his cheeks blushed faintly pink. Gerard watched as he bit his lip and his eyes darkened, as they slowly raised to meet his.

"Show me," said Bob.

"What?" asked Gerard.

"Show me the pictures," said Bob. "Please, Gerard, I know he's yours. I know that, I know I can't have him, but I want to see, please."

The quiet desperation in his words shocked Gerard. "He's not," he started. "I mean, we're not. It's not like that."

"But the pictures," said Bob, fingers unconsciously twitching for the book.

Gerard laughed mirthlessly. "I can't exactly say 'hey, Frank, how about putting on some panties and fucking me?', now can I? That wouldn't be smooth."

"You're not?" asked Bob. "Really?" Gerard ducked his head and shook it, shamefaced. Bob straightened up and turned, and for a sickening second Gerard was sure he was going out to get Frank, to expose Gerard's secret once and for all. But a soft rustle sounded instead, and then bags dropped onto his bunk, followed by Bob, settling into the space next to his knees. Gerard reached for the bags reflexively, opening the first one and pulling out a pair of high heeled sandals. They were black, with tiny straps around the ankle and over the toes. The heel was delicate, and Gerard could just see Frank bending over and sliding the leather tongue through the tiny buckle and pulling it tight. He caught his breath and glanced at Bob.

"You bought these?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Bob. "Shoes, underwear, even a dress, for fucks sake, imagining him in each piece, imagining you taking them off."

"Shit," said Gerard. "Holy shit." Bob was red-faced and sweating, voice pitched low, and Gerard could see the same want eating away at him as burned inside Gerard's own body. The inside of the bunk felt humid and stifling, reminding Gerard of a confessional, though he doubted either of them would find absolution here.

"I think about it all the time," said Bob. "Him. And you."

Bob looked up and met Gerard's eyes on the last sentence, face still red and desperate. Gerard wasn't sure what to say, looking from the sketchbook in his lap to the bags between them, to the sandal still hanging from his finger. He took a deep breath and looked at Bob again. Reaching out with the hand that wasn't holding the sandal, he tugged him closer and their lips met in a quick, hard kiss, kind of off centre. Bob drew back to blink at him questioningly for a moment, then pushed forward. Bags and sketchbook wedged between them uncomfortably, they kissed.

Gerard opened his mouth under Bob's, enjoying the slide of their tongues together and over each other. He clutched at Bob's neck with one hand, and the other scrabbled at Bob's shoulder. The heel of the sandal dug into Bob's skin, but that just made him moan and press forward harder. Bob's hand came up and gripped Gerard's shoulder, anchoring him in place. Kissing feverishly, the rough crinkle of plastic between them, Gerard's mind raced. He wasn't sure what he should be doing here, but the feel of Bob's hands on his skin and the rough brush of Bob's tongue was heavenly.

A loud crash from the lounge separated them, both breathing harshly. Gerard raised his fingers to his lips and watched Bob retreat to the end of the bunk.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Frank was still confused, and suspicious, and more sure than ever that something was going on and that Gerard and Bob were at the bottom of it, with their weird, separate twitchiness. He investigated as best he could, climbing all over Bob even more than usual and cataloging the feel of his strong shoulders under Frank's hands, the way he could lift Frank without thinking about it. It made Frank feel small and dainty when he did that shit, though Frank tried to cover it up by sticking his tongue in Bob's ear or his hand up his shirt. Gerard was harder. If he started climbing on Gerard more than he already did, he was going to have to get suction cups or some kind of surgical attachment. But he paid more attention when he did. Gerard's voice in his ear made him shiver, and Frank found that the way his hands moved on Frank's skin made him feel kind of cherished or some fucking shit like that. He hid this in bites to Gerard's neck.

Then Gerard walked him to his hotel room the next hotel night, and fuck only knows how it happened, but he had a room to himself. That never happened. He was always in with someone else, but here he was at the door and Gerard was retreating down the hallway to the room he was going to be sharing with Bob, not Frank. Frank would definitely not say he pouted, but he did watch the long, loping stride that carried Gerard away from him with more emotion than perhaps was strictly necessary. He saw the door to Gerard's room open as he got there, and Bob's hand snake out and catch Gerard by the forearm. Bob had nice hands, strong and callused. Gerard was pulled inside his room, and there was nothing else for it. Frank opened the door. At least he'd be able to have a shower first, before he went to bother anyone else.

He stopped in surprise on the threshold. Maybe this wasn't his room, because he was sure he would have noticed if he had suddenly acquired a dozen or so shopping bags. But Gerard had dropped him off, and the key card had worked, so he went forward to have a look. Maybe they were a present. That seemed more likely as he stepped closer and found a letter lying on top. He unfolded it and read, simply, For you, from us.

He would have to check with Brian that the room hadn't been invaded by creepy stalkers. Or, you know, Pete Wentz.

He started to empty the bags, breath growing shorter and shorter with each one. Flimsy silk spilled over the cheap bedspread in a rainbow, and two pairs of sandals kicked up their slim heels from their perch on a dress. There was even a bag with women's toiletries, and Frank clutched the handle of the razor so hard he thought it might snap. His cock was hard and aching insistently inside his jeans, but his stomach was roiling with fear and anxiety. How the fuck had anyone known about this? He was sure he had never been caught.

Since the day he'd first slipped on his mother's worn black heels and teetered around in them, feeling the unfamiliar tilt to his pelvis and the exaggerated sway of his hips, Frank had known that he liked this. The clothes, the shoes, the waxy weight of lipstick on his mouth... it was all a part he played and felt at home in, like he might have belonged there. But no one else knew. No one. So the bags on his bed made no sense at all, because he sure as hell hadn't bought them for himself.

Picking up the phone, Frank called the front desk. "Hi, I'm in room 824. Did anyone else pick up a key to this room?"

He put the phone down and sank down on the other bed. This made so much sense now. Everything, for the last few weeks, and particularly the last few days, made sense. Fuck, Gerard now made more sense than he had done for months. And it was nice to know why Bob had been furtively watching him, and all those mysterious shopping trips, and the way he'd huddled with Gerard for the past three days, talking in hushed whispers that had made him jump on them and demand their attention. He suddenly realised he fucking had their attention.

He liked that. He liked it the way he'd heard girls talk about it, how they extracted an admiring look that traced them from head to toe, the desperate want they could inspire by the tilt of their lips in invitation. Frank had been doing that and he hadn't even known it. He reached down and palmed his cock through his jeans, enjoying the feeling of friction against his hardening dick. He fucking loved the idea of Gerard and Bob watching him and wanting him. He could just imagine them shopping together, looking through racks and racks of clothes as they chose things for him. He knew that he was the one in power here, and he just had to decide what to do about it.

Ripping open his duffle where he had left it on the floor, Frank dug through to find his digital camera at the bottom. He scowled at it, trying to remember how all the settings worked.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Bob paced back and forth in the room he was sharing with Gerard, while Gerard was perched on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette with his fingers twitching impatiently for a pencil that wasn't there. Bob wanted the waiting to end, even as he dreaded the possible outcomes, the ones that didn't end with him and Frank and Gerard sprawled naked and sated on rumpled sheets. The loud buzz of his phone made him jump, and he dragged it out of his pocket, watching Gerard do the same on the other side of the room.

Chek yr email, it read, then, If thse pix end on internet, ill kill u bth. slwly.

Gerard sprang forward and clumsily wrestled the laptop onto the bed and open. "Whose email do you think he meant?" he asked, nearly dancing from foot to foot in his impatience. Bob stood next to him, equally impatient, but not letting it out beyond the low-level vibration of his body.

He cleared his throat. "Both of us, I think," he said, hoping it was true.

The program opened finally, and Gerard clicked to view the attachments. Bob held his breath as he looked over Gerard's shoulder at the screen, then abruptly breathed deeply and let it out in a low, shaky exhale as the first picture became visible.

It showed Frank, perched naked on the edge of the uncomfortable hotel bath, shaving foam up his leg and the razor dragging a smooth path through it. His other leg was twisted underneath him, and was already smooth and hairless. Frank was all long planes and twisted lines from his shoulder to his ankles, and Bob couldn't look away from the curve of his spine, the hair curtaining his face, and the curl of his toes. Beside him, Gerard moaned softly on his own exhale of breath.

Bob reached past Gerard and clicked for the next picture. This one was back in the main room, catching Frank from behind as he stood in front of the mirror, holding a pair of knickers in front of him to check if he liked them. His head was tucked down, hair covering his face again, and Bob's cock hardened helplessly as his eyes raked over Frank's back and ass.

"Jesus," he breathed. "Fuck, Gerard, it's too much."

Gerard clicked on the third and final attachment. Frank's dark eyes, darker than ever with eyeshadow and mascara and eyeliner, stared up at them. He was lying on the bed, propped up on his elbow on his side. The sign in front of him read I'm waiting for you both.

Bob had never seen Gerard move so fast, shutting the laptop and springing to his feet.

"Fuck, Bob, he wants us," babbled Gerard. "I can't fucking believe this. What do we do now?" Bob reached out and pulled Gerard close, trying to calm him down via the slow stroke of his fingers on the inside of his arm. Gerard kept talking, but his breathing slowed. "I mean, are you ready for this? What if we fuck up the band?"

"Gerard," said Bob. "We've fucking talked about this. Exhaustively. Now we need to talk about it with Frank." Bob didn't wait to hear more of Gerard's protests. He simply pushed him out the door and down the hallway, letting Gerard talk all the way without actually listening. He knocked on Frank's door and heard Gerard shut up next to him.

The door opened and Bob forgot about anything else. Frank looked better than he could ever have imagined, better than every single fantasy he'd had, from the red sandals on his feet up over his bare legs, over the hemline of his simple red dress, past where his hands were clutched together, maybe nervously, and up to his face, where he was biting his lip. Bob wanted to smooth out that bite with his tongue.

"Come in before someone sees you," said Frank, sounding normal in his exasperation. Gerard moved, then, pulling Bob inside and kicking the door shut and reaching for Frank in almost the same dorky, uncoordinated move. Frank didn't wait for Gerard to finish fumbling. He took a step forwards and pressed himself into Gerard's personal space, flush against the front of his body, tangling one hand in Gerard's hair. "Is this what you wanted?" he said, looking at Bob, even as his other hand slid down the front of Gerard's shirt and down further to cup his cock. He didn't look nervous at all.

Transfixed, Bod blurted, "You're wearing the clothes I picked for you." Then he felt himself blush. Frank smirked at Bob's fumbling and Gerard's silence, flashing them both a wicked smile. It turned him from a demure girl in a pretty dress into someone who looked like he knew what he wanted, and how to get it.

"Let me tell you what I want," said Frank. "I want both of you to get naked and sit on the bed." Pushing away from Gerard, he crossed to the window and turned, looking at them expectantly. Bob looked at Gerard. He wondered what Frank wanted from them, but pushed it from his mind. Bob wanted them both, anyway, no matter what; Frank biting his red-slicked lip, and Gerard picking hesitantly at his hem with his long artist's fingers. He moved forward and replaced Gerard's fingers with his own, tugging the shirt up and over his head.

As the shirt cleared Gerard's head, Bob pressed closer, pulling Gerard close for a kiss that mingled reassurance and lust and the thin edge of desperation that he could feel building. Gerard kissed back with all his uncertainty and the fear that he might not get what he'd been waiting for. Gerard's hands fisted in Bob's shirt, first, slowly unclenching to side under the hem and push it upwards. He broke the kiss long enough to get the shirt over his head, then they were kissing again. He unbuttoned Gerard's jeans and pushed them down, but broke the kiss and stepped back, swiftly kicking off his shoes and getting rid of his own pants.

Bob was naked first, heading for the bed with Frank's gaze heavy on him.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Pushing his jeans down and off, kicking them away from his feet, Gerard stifled the urge to cover himself. Frank and Bob were both looking at him with open lust of their faces, even as he scuttled to the bed and climbed up next to Bob. Bob reached out and squeezed his hand as they both turned their attention to Frank, standing tiny and dainty and imperious, somehow, at the foot of the bed.

Gerard couldn't remember the first time he had thought of Frank like this, the first time his eyes had slid over his face while he was talking and imagined him in lipstick. Or watched him down on one knee on the floor, tuning his guitar, and imagined him in a strappy sundress instead of a stretched out t-shirt. But it had rapidly become an obsession. Now, with Frank standing at the foot of the bed with his lips painted red and a dress smoothed over his body, and his face making that considering face that usually heralded either something really fucking amazing or something that was going to turn to shit really soon, Gerard had no idea what to do. Bob squeezed his hand again and Gerard relaxed slightly.

Bob's presence at his side calmed him. He was so big and solid and even when he was flustered he didn't lose it. Gerard squeezed back, hoping that the gesture would let Bob know he was happy Bob was there.

Frank shifted from foot to foot, looking down at them. He was chewing his bottom lip again. Gerard watched as he obviously came to some conclusion. Frank straightened, hands going to his hips.

"I like wearing women's clothes," he said. "But don't either of you motherfuckers get any ideas about me being a girl, got it?"

Gerard stared. There were a few moments of silence, then Bob broke it by laughing. Turning his head, Gerard saw Bob slowly double over laughing, relinquishing his grip on Gerard's hand in favour of clutching his sides as he laughed.

"Motherfucker," shouted Frank, springing up on the bed and shoving Bob back against the pillows. "Did I say you could fucking laugh at me?" He sprawled across Bob, dress rucked up, elbows flying, high heels perilously close to stabbing someone in the leg, and Gerard ran his hand up the back of Frank's thigh. Frank stopped trying to pummel Bob and turned his head to look at Gerard.

"Not a girl," said Gerard. "Got that. Um. Hi?" He knew he must be smiling like a fool, and could only imagine how happy and dopy he must look. Frank's answering grin was blinding, maybe a little wicked. Gerard knew he would do whatever Frank said, if he got to see him smile like that.

"Hi, yourself," he said. "Gonna kiss me?" He propped himself up with one hand above Bob's shoulder, still straddling his hips. Gerard saw Bob calm abruptly, hands coming up to rest on Frank's hips as Gerard leaned in.

The waxy texture of lipstick was all Gerard could feel for a second, but then Frank's tongue slid along Gerard's lips and his mouth opened. Then there was warm, slick heat and Frank making little noises into his mouth. Gerard's hand slid higher on Frank's thigh, brushing up against the curve of his ass and the stretch of elastic and satin there.

"Are you wearing them? The ones in the picture?" he asked, breaking away from the kiss. Frank's lipstick was smeared, his eyes dark and dilated. He sat up, straddling Bob, glancing down at him.

"I'll show you," he said, reaching for the hem of the dress. He peeled it off slowly. Gerard watched Frank, watched Bob watch Frank too, and felt a stab of lust run through him. He saw Bob's fingers clench on Frank's hips, heard the low groan he gave, and knew that Bob was just as turned on as he was. Gerard's eyes ran over Frank's body, his arms above his head as he tugged the dress up over them, moving down over the bare planes of his chest, down to the way his cock tented the black panties, pre-come staining the front. Gerard had to taste.

Frank's hands tangled in Gerard's hair as he twisted round and got his head down, flat against Bob's belly, tongue flickering out over the wet satin. He heard Frank's low moan and felt Bob's unsteady exhale and gasp, and he moved his mouth to suck the tip of Bob's cock into his mouth.

"Christ, that's hot," said Frank, urging Gerard's mouth back to his cock. One of Bob's hands moved to fist in Gerard's hair with Frank's, both of them moving him back and forwards between them. "Is this what you want to do? Suck me off through the satin, then suck Bob off after he's watched me come?"

Gerard moaned helplessly around the cock in his mouth. He reached down for his cock, needing some friction, knowing it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge.

"Stop," said Frank. "No touching yourself. Bob, hold his hands behind his back." Gerard angled his head to look up at Frank even as he reluctantly slid his hands away and let Bob capture them and pull them behind him. Then he was trapped, curled on his side with Bob's big hand gripping his wrists tightly together, two cocks in front of his face. He felt open and exposed, like Frank could see right inside him, like he knew exactly what Gerard needed. Frank's hands gentled, petting his hair. "Good," he said. "Gerard, you look so pretty right now, doesn't he, Bob? You'd like him to suck your cock again, wouldn't you?"

Bob moaned. "I would," he said. Frank urged Gerard's head forward again, shifting slightly to make it easier for Gerard to get to Bob's cock and suck more of it down. Frank stroked Gerard's cheek softly with the fingers of one hand.

"Fuck, Bob, you should see what I'm seeing," said Frank. "Gerard's mouth stretched round your cock. It looks so good. He looks so good." Gerard concentrated on sucking and let the words wash over and through him, prickling his skin with arousal. He wanted to come. He wanted this never to end. He wanted Frank to pet him and Bob to hold him, and for them to never let him go, least he shatter into pieces on the sheets.

"Wish I could see it," said Bob. "I can see you, though."

"Do you like it?" asked Frank. "Do you like looking at me, Bob? Wearing black satin panties you picked out for me, bracelets you chose for me? Fuck, I've still got those heels on. I'm wearing lipstick all smeared from Gerard's lips. Fuck, Gee's probably transferring it to your cock right now, sucking you off with the remnants of my lipstick on his mouth."

Gerard felt Bob shift and groan, his fingers tightening on Gerard's wrists, holding them tighter. He sucked harder, desperate to feel Bob come in his mouth. Then Frank's fingers were there too, teasing over Bob's balls and behind, down to his ass. Bob moaned, loud and despairing almost, bucking against the weight of Gerard's head on his stomach and Frank straddling his thighs. He shook under them both and came with a strangled shout, fingers tightening on Gerard's wrist almost to the point of pain.

Gerard sucked him through the orgasm, gentling him down slowly. Finally, Frank pulled his head away.

"Move," he ordered. "Bob, leaning against the headboard. Gee, between his legs, resting against his chest, hands above your head. I'm going to fuck you."

Gerard swallowed hard, not sure he could manage to move without coming untouched. Frank moved, reaching out and slapping his ass. Gerard jerked, rolling onto his back and shuffling over to rest against Bob, who had rearranged himself on the pillows. Bob caught his arms at the elbow, lifting them up and back. Gerard tilted his head back and Bob met him in a kiss, hard and wet and deep. His mouth still tasted like Bob's come, and Gerard let Bob chase the taste.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Frank had to get inside Gerard right fucking now, or he was going to explode. Gerard was sprawled out over his bed, thrumming with lust and bending to every single one of Frank's commands. Bob held his arms in his big hands, and they were kissing, and that was so hot. Both of them, together, were everything Frank could wish for. He stripped off his panties, dropping them onto the sheets, and rummaged for the lube and condoms he'd stashed in the top drawer, tossing the lube on the bed and ripping open a condom. He slid it down his cock, hissing as even that touch sent him skittering closer to the edge. The shoes had to come off too, and he used the moment of concentration needed to get the tiny buckle undone to pull himself back a little.

He concentrated on Gerard and Bob, still kissing, as he climbed back onto the bed. Gerard twisted restlessly, but Bob was all sated solidity for Gerard to writhe against. The lube was cold and slippery, and Frank put all his attention into watching the way Gerard opened around his finger. Gerard moaned loudly, breaking his kiss with Bob.

"More, please. Frankie, I need it faster," he begged.

"Shut the fuck up," snapped Frank, his words belied by the shaky, breathless tone. "Or I won't let you come at all."

Gerard shut up, staring at Frank for a second before melting into Bob's hands and spreading his legs wider for Frank's fingers. Frank smirked and added another finger as a reward, then a third, watching as Gerard stifled a moan by biting his lip. Bob's eyes were dark and intent as he watched Frank getting Gerard ready, his lips moving over Gerard's neck and shoulder. Frank pulled back. That was going to have to do.

"Are you ready?" he asked, waiting until Gerard opened his eyes and focused on him, nodding slowly. "Good," said Frank as he lifted Gerard's legs, positioning himself and sliding into Gerard's ass in one steady thrust. Gerard muffled a shout by turning his head and biting his own arm. Frank leaned over him, braced on his arms, trying to catch his own breath. "Feels so good, doesn't it?" he asked, rolling his hips just a little. "You can make noise now, Gee. I want you to make noise. I want to hear you fucking scream for me."

Gerard moaned again, head lolling on Bob's shoulder. Frank smiled and looked past him to Bob, who still had that intent, dark look to his eyes. "Are you getting hard again, Bryar?" asked Frank. "I wish you were. Then you'd be able to fuck Gerard when I've done with him." He watched Bob swallow hard, wanted to say more, but his body was insistent. He had to move. He thrust deeply, no messing round. Gerard jerked between Frank and Bob, groaning. Legs wrapped tight around Frank's waist, arms held over his head by Bob's fingers, Gerard looked lost. So completely wrecked that he couldn't stop himself from struggling, just a little, trying to get more friction against his cock. Frank thrust again, and knew it was going to be over soon.

He fumbled for the panties, discarded next to his knee, and got a good grip on them. He rolled his hips, getting as deep into Gerard's willing body as he could, loving the sound of Gerard's gasps and whimpers.

"Oh, fuck," muttered Bob, as Frank leaned forward with the panties in his hand. Frank snapped his hips fast and rough, dragging the bunched up panties over Gerard's face and down his neck. Gerard screamed as Frank fisted them over his cock and shuddered his way through his orgasm, spilling slick over Frank's hand and the black satin. Frank fucked him through the aftershocks, filth and endearments dropping from his lips as he chased his own orgasm. He came with a shudder and a howl, barely holding himself up as he caught his breath.

Frank gripped the edge of the condom and rolled off, getting rid of the condom by throwing it in the direction of the bin. Then he moved back, helping Bob roll Gerard off him to sprawl on his back. Frank gripped Bob's hand.

"Hey," he said, tugging him a little closer. They kissed, lazily, full of satisfaction and faint anticipation, because there was no way they could get it up again. Frank knew this was just the start, though, and he kissed Bob with all that promise in his lips. "Next time," Frank said, "I'm gonna ride you hard."

Then he looked down to see Gerard watching them both, and the shocked air of smugness on his face made Frank lean down and place a huge, smacking kiss on his neck. He tucked himself into Gerard's side, and smiled at Bob, now settling on the other side. He didn't feel confused at all. He knew what he wanted, what Bob and Gerard wanted, and he knew how he was going to get it.


End file.
